


saw your face (and knew it was a sign)

by groundopenwide



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: “What are you doing after your shift?” Dan asks.Kissing you on the mouth, Kyle thinks hysterically. Aloud, he says, “um, nothing.”
Relationships: Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	saw your face (and knew it was a sign)

**Author's Note:**

> the working title of this fic should have been 'let's see how many cliches peyton can fit into a coffee shop au.' i really just wanted to write something cute and fun, so...this was born!
> 
> title from [this song.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6QTPacyXkZWG9FMwq6L1hJ?si=buEkCsQZSHuX_RYPSwu2xg)

The first time Dan ever comes into _Pot Meets Kettle,_ Kyle has just spilled nonfat milk all over his shoes.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Charlie tells him, then disappears into the back room so that Kyle can do exactly that.

Kyle flips the bird at his retreating back and goes to fetch the mop. It’s early, far too early for him to already be making a mess of the shop, the eight o’clock rush having only just subsided. In classic Kyle fashion, though, his clumsiness adheres to neither rules, nor a schedule, which he’s reminded of every time he takes a step and his milk-soaked shoes squelch in protest.

The bell over the front door chimes just as he’s mopping up the last of his mishap.

“Be with you in a mo’,” he calls without looking up.

A soft set of footsteps approaches the till. “Rough morning?” 

“Just another day in my sorry life.”

Satisfied enough with his half-arsed cleaning job, Kyle leans the mop against the wall in the corner and turns around, then promptly loses any and all train of thought.

Blue. The bluest eyes Kyle has ever seen.

“Oh,” he blurts.

The customer blinks those blue, blue eyes at him, his brows furrowing in question. “Alright?”

“Oh,” Kyle says again. “Oh, yeah, I‘m fine. Just—just got some milk in my shoes.”

The customer breaks into a smile, a shy little thing that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. Kyle has the most insane urge to press his thumbs against the faint dimples in his cheeks.

“Sorry. That sounds uncomfortable,” the customer says. “Could I just get a regular coffee?”

Kyle exhales, steadying himself against the onslaught of the freckles on the bloke’s nose and his mouthful of perfect, white teeth. Everything is fine. This is only the most beautiful customer Kyle has ever seen, but it’s fine. Kyle is calm. He’s collected. He can totally handle this interaction. 

“Sure,” he says, cool as a cucumber. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, thanks. Just black.”

Kyle picks up a cup from the stack beside the still. All he needs to do is turn around to the coffee machine behind him and fill the cup. It’s not like there’s anyone else in the shop waiting for drinks, either, but this might be Kyle’s only shot. He rummages around in his apron pocket for a pen, then clears his throat.

“Could I get a name?”

The customer tilts his head. Kyle has a split second moment of _oh fuck, he’s figured out I’m a total creepy stalker,_ but then the customer just pushes his jumper sleeves up to his elbows (a nervous tic, maybe? Christ, but his forearms are nice) and says, “Dan.”

Kyle writes the three letters out slowly, precisely, savoring the way it feels to form the word with his fingers: _D-A-N._

“That’ll be two pounds, please.”

Dan slides a couple of coins across the counter, which Kyle puts into the till. As he turns around to fill Dan’s cup, he definitely isn’t lamenting the fact that Dan hadn’t directly handed him the coins and has therefore robbed Kyle of the opportunity to very casually brush their fingers together. 

“Here you are,” Kyle says, placing the cup down in front of Dan.

Dan offers him another small smile as he picks up his coffee. His eyes flick from Kyle’s face down to his chest, then back up again. 

“Thanks, Kyle.”

The sound of his name falling from Dan’s lips has Kyle nearly choking on his own spit. He watches, dumbfounded, as Dan drifts away from the counter and sits down at a table by the windows, sliding on a giant pair of headphones that he pulls from his backpack.

“Well,” Charlie’s voice calls. Kyle whirls around to find him leaning in the doorway to the back room, shit-eating grin on his face. “That was quite pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Kyle grumbles.

“Pretty sure you ascended when he said your name. You’ve got a nametag on, you know?”

“Yeah, ta.”

Kyle’s gaze drifts without his permission back over to Dan, who now has his nose buried in a dusty looking novel, and—oh, fuck, are those _glasses_ he’s wearing _?_ Kyle makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

“Please get it together,” Charlie tells him. He wanders past Kyle to the espresso machine and inspects the floor there for a moment. “Also, you missed a spot.”

*

It’s official: Kyle has a bit of a crush.

“I still don’t understand how you can be so obsessed with someone who drinks plain back coffee,” says Charlie.

Kyle chucks a sugar packet at him. “Bugger off.”

“Plain black coffee. Like a psychopath,” Charlie emphasizes, then turns back to the espresso machine to finish making the latte in his hand.

Kyle rests his elbows on the counter beside the till and finds his eyes drifting across the shop for what is probably the millionth time in the past hour. There beside the window at what’s come to be his usual table sits the unknowing object of Kyle’s affections, oversized headphones tucked over the messy swoop of his hair. 

Dan has come into the shop every morning for the last two weeks. Each time, he orders his plain black coffee and proceeds to spend hours reading from books that look older than the Queen herself. Kyle’s decided he must be a student. Of course, he hasn’t actually asked Dan if that’s true, because that would require speaking more than two sentences to him, a task which Kyle’s brain has been unable to complete up to this point.

“Earth to Kyle.”

“What?”

Charlie jerks his head toward the door, where a whole gaggle of girls have just entered the shop. Kyle sighs. He shoots one last longing look in Dan’s direction, and at that exact same moment, Dan decides to look up from his reading and meet his gaze from across the room. 

The unexpected eye contact hits Kyle like a bullet. He jerks up from his slouch against the counter, and _wham!_ His elbow slams right into the tip jar, sending all of the coins clattering to the ground in a horrifying storm, the crash echoing through the entire shop.

All conversation comes to a grinding halt. The girls who had been on their way up to the counter freeze a few meters away to stare. Behind the espresso machine, Charlie starts wheezing quietly with laughter. 

Kyle looks up toward the ceiling and hopes for imminent death. Impaling himself on the Torani syrup bottles sounds like an exciting way to go. 

“Sorry everyone, nothing to see here,” he eventually says. 

His face is still on fire, but his voice only cracks slightly on the word _sorry,_ so he’ll take that as a win. 

The noise level in the shop gradually returns to a normal decibel. Kyle waves the girls toward the counter so he can take their order, then leaves Charlie to make their drinks while he goes to collect the coins off the floor. He purposefully does not look in Dan’s direction all the while. 

That’s probably why he almost shits himself when Dan suddenly appears beside him.

“Need a hand?” he asks.

“No, no, that’s alright—”

Dan ignores Kyle’s stuttering and kneels down, scooping some coins into his palm. He holds them out to Kyle, who has the tip jar gripped in one sweaty hand.

“Oh, um, thanks,” says Kyle. 

He lets Dan deposit the coins into the jar and tries to even out his breathing. Dan is so close to him, close enough that Kyle can smell him, woodsy and fresh like he’d just showered that morning. And now he’s thinking about Dan in the shower, hair matted down to his skull and water droplets running over those wiry forearms of his. Fuck. What the fuck, Kyle. Be a normal person for more than five seconds, please, for the love of God—

“You seem to spill things a lot,” Dan tells him.

Kyle clears his throat. “Yeah. I’m...a bit of a walking disaster, to be honest.”

“Well, this isn’t quite as bad as milk, right?”

Kyle has a war flashback to five minutes ago. The wide-eyed stares of those girls are going to haunt his dreams tonight, he just knows it. “Debatable.”

They finish cleaning up the last of the coins and rise to their feet. Kyle hugs the tip jar to his chest like a shield and says, “You really didn’t have to help. I mean, like—I get paid to be here, and you don’t. If anything, you pay for me to get paid. Which is kind of messed up. But I’m really grateful! So like—thanks.”

Someday he’ll figure out the appropriate time to stop talking. Today is not that day.

Dan just smiles and shrugs, a bashful gesture that makes Kyle want to coo at him like he’s a—a fucking puppy, or something.

“You feed my caffeine addiction, so it’s the least I could do, really,” Dan says. “Anyway, I should probably get back to revising. See you later?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll just—be here.” Kyle gestures toward the counter. “Like always.”

Dan offers him one last smile and heads back to his table. He’s barely made it out of earshot when Charlie pops up next to Kyle’s shoulder. 

“You’re a disgrace,” he tells him.

“And this is news how?”

“Oh, it isn’t. I just like reminding you.” 

“Gee, thanks, mate.”

*

After Kyle’s...incident (which Charlie keeps kindly referring to as “Coingate”), Dan doesn’t come back to the shop for three days. Their fumbled conversation over the tip jar must have led Dan to realize that Kyle possesses a grand total of exactly two brain cells, and now he’s no doubt ordering coffee from a more intelligent barista at the Starbucks down the road. Yes, that must be what’s happened. 

Kyle’s just about convinced himself of it—and has vowed to never step foot in a Starbucks again—when Dan comes shuffling into the shop on Thursday morning. Kyle looks up when the door chimes and does a double take. 

“Dan. Hi,” he says, a bit breathlessly.

Dan gives him a little wave and approaches the counter. Once he’s closer, Kyle realizes how tired he looks. His black hoodie is zipped all the way up to his chin, and he’s got a cap pulled down over his hair, like he couldn’t be arsed to style it before heading out for the day. Behind his glasses, his eyes are bloodshot and outlined with dark, purple circles. Kyle wants to wrap him up in a blanket burrito and give him the world’s biggest hug.

“Long night?” he asks instead.

Dan nudges his glasses up with his fingers to rub one of his eyes. It’s the most adorable thing Kyle has ever seen. “I had a big deadline to meet for my thesis. Didn’t have much time to sleep.”

So Dan _is_ a student, and a third year, no less. Kyle tucks the information away for later and sets about fetching Dan his usual cup of coffee without waiting for him to order. “That’s why you’ve been reading all those ancient-looking books?”

Dan lets out a startled laugh. “I wouldn’t call Shakespeare ancient.”

“Fine. Old, then. Very, very old.” 

Dan accepts his cup from Kyle’s outstretched hand, and this time, their fingers _do_ brush. The contact sends a warm tingle all the way down to Kyle’s toes. When Dan starts to pull a few coins from his pocket, Kyle waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“You can repay me by going home and getting some sleep,” Kyle says. “Besides, I poured you decaf.”

Dan glances down at his cup. His mouth opens in a soft little ‘o’, like maybe he’s going to protest, but his jaw goes slack a moment later as he seems to decide better of it. He looks back up at Kyle, blue eyes blinking owlishly.

“Thanks,” he says. “I—don’t take great care of myself sometimes. It drives my mates bonkers. So...yeah, thanks.”

“Anytime,” Kyle tells him, and god, does he mean it.

*

In the weeks that follow, it’s like the ice has broken and Kyle can (mostly) communicate like a real human person again. Each day Dan comes into the shop and he and Kyle chat for a few minutes while Kyle fetches his coffee. Just about mundane, silly things, like which act of Hamlet Dan is writing about or the stray cat Kyle saw on his walk to work that morning (“that explains that, then,” says Dan, waving at the cats-in-space on Kyle’s t-shirt). Kyle hoards the tidbits of information like they’re gold, each glimpse into Dan’s life more precious than the last.

He’s got it bad. Really bad.

Today the shop is surprisingly busy, so Kyle doesn’t get much of a chance to talk to Dan before he has to help the next customer in line. Dan’s little smile of understanding is enough to motivate him through the rush, though, and Kyle spends the next hour flitting around behind the counter making drinks and thinking about how soft and cuddleable Dan looks in that Twin Peaks jumper.

“Oi,” Charlie says a bit later. 

The shop has finally calmed down, so Kyle is taking the opportunity to scarf down a bacon sandwich. “What?” he asks around a mouthful.

“Close your mouth, that’s disgusting,” Charlie tells him. Then he nods towards the windows. “Looks like your lad’s got a visitor.”

“Not my lad,” Kyle protests, but he immediately turns to look. 

Dan’s at his usual table, but for the first time ever, he’s not alone. There’s a dark-haired bloke sitting across from him. He’s got a hand on Dan’s arm, and Dan is laughing like he’s just told the funniest joke of all jokes, head thrown back and eyes gone squinty at the corners. Both men are leaning forward over the table, heads bent close together. Too close.

The bite of sandwich Kyle’s just taken turns to sawdust in his mouth. 

“Oh,” he says.

“They look awful chummy,” Charlie says, but for once, there’s no teasing in his voice. Instead he sounds concerned, which only makes Kyle feel a million times worse.

“Yeah.”

“Could be a mate of his…?”

“Sure.”

Charlie says something else, but Kyle isn’t listening. The noise of the shop dies out until there’s nothing but a ringing in his ears. He’s being ridiculous, he knows. Dan’s a random lad who comes into the shop, and Kyle’s just so happened to project all sorts of stupid, mushy, romantic fantasies onto him. It doesn’t mean anything. They barely know each other. Kyle’s got no right to feel like his heart is shattering into a gazillion tiny pieces, but the longer he stares at the hand on Dan’s arm, the sicker he feels.

“I’m gonna—gonna go unload boxes in the back,” says Kyle, and then he flees.

He hides in the back room for the rest of the morning, unpacking the occasional box of napkins or cups, but mostly just moping. Charlie doesn’t bother him, and for that Kyle is eternally grateful. 

Dan usually takes off during Kyle’s last hour of work (god, Kyle knows his fucking schedule, how pathetic), so Kyle wastes time until there’s only about a half hour left in his shift and then slinks back out to the shop.

Of course, Dan isn’t gone. He’s still at his table, but his friend—boyfriend— _whatever_ has disappeared. He looks up as soon as Kyle emerges from the back room, almost like he’s been waiting for him, and—no, Kyle. Quit it. Dan doesn’t care about you like that, you’re just his barista. Get over yourself.

But then Dan gets up and walks over to the counter. He looks so heartbreakingly happy to see Kyle, a shy smile appearing on his face. Kyle can’t breathe. He hovers behind the register, caught between fight or flight as Dan approaches.

“Hey,” Dan says. 

He looks even softer up close—ruffled hair, red cheeks, glasses slightly askew. The sight of him hits Kyle like a punch to the stomach.

“Hi,” Kyle says weakly. 

“We didn’t really get to talk earlier, so I just thought…” Dan shrugs, bashful. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Kyle lies. “Just—busy. You know.”

The words come out sharper than Kyle intends them to be. Dan looks a little taken aback by it, his smile dimming.

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Are you—are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little off, is all.”

Kyle looks away. “Just having a shitty day.”

“Milk in your shoes?” Dan jokes.

Kyle doesn’t laugh. Instead, he fiddles with the cup of pens next to the till just for something to do with his hands. He can feel Dan’s eyes on him but can’t bring himself to meet his gaze, knows that if he does he’ll crack in an instant and say something stupid like _no, I’ve just got a fat crush on you and I’m only now realizing how hopeless it is._

It takes a moment, but Dan gets the hint. “Well, I—I guess I should let you get back to work.”

He sounds proper sad, and it makes Kyle’s heart seize up in his chest. He looks up finally, a stilted apology on his lips, but Dan has already turned to head back to his table. 

Way to go, Kyle, you fucking prick.

*

Kyle begs off work for the next two days, claiming he’s been feeling ill. In reality, though, he’s just a heartsick fool. He lies around his flat all day watching crap telly and stuffing himself so full of crisps that his body might as well be made completely of potatoes. 

His flatmate, Will, walks in on him the second morning while he’s practically comatose on the sofa.

“Mate,” he says disapprovingly.

Kyle throws a crisp at him. “Leave me alone, I’m pining.”

“No, you’re being a twat.” Will walks over and steals the bag of crisps from his lap. Kyle makes a sound of protest and tries to grab it back, but Will holds it just out of reach. “And you smell.”

“Fuck off.”

“Really, Kyle. He’s just a person. Talk to him.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kyle moans. “What do I say? ‘ _Hey Dan, I was just wondering if that fit bloke from the other day was your boyfriend, ‘cos if he isn’t, I’d like to be?’”_

“Sounds alright.”

“You are so not helpful,” Kyle tells him. “Let me sulk in peace.”

Will shrugs. “Fine. But if you don’t leave this flat tomorrow, I’m calling your mum.”

And because Kyle has already learned the hard way to take Will at his word (thanks to an unfortunate incident a few months back that resulted in Kyle’s bed—yes, literally his _whole bed—_ ending up in the hall outside), he drags his sorry arse to his shift the next morning.

Charlie perks up behind the counter as he walks into the shop. “He lives!”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Kyle says, but he isn’t really sorry at all. “Did I miss anything exciting?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Charlie says. “Just your pal Dan looking like a kicked puppy each time he realized you weren’t working.”

Kyle stills in the middle of tying his apron around his waist. “He asked about me?”

“Only like, fifty times in the past 48 hours.”

“You’re having me on,” Kyle says, hating the hope that leaks into his voice.

Charlie scoffs. “I wish. It’d serve you right, after the drama queen act you’ve pulled these past couple of days.”

Kyle’s head is still convinced that Charlie’s just taking the piss, but his heart, in the meantime, swells ten sizes. He watches the door like a hawk for the rest of the morning, head snapping up everytime the bell jingles to announce the arrival of a customer. It’s a miracle he doesn’t spill anything, he’s so distracted. 

Dan finally walks in a couple of hours later. Kyle spots him and abandons the cup of tea he’s been pouring, his stomach flip-flopping like crazy. 

(“Wanker,” Charlie mutters, grabbing the cup to finish filling it for him.) 

Dan approaches the counter a bit like a frightened animal might, his steps hesitant. 

“You’re back,” he says, but it comes out more like a question.

Kyle swallows past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m—”

“Did I—”

They both start to speak at the same time, then stop. Dan smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out after a long, cloudy day. Kyle is helpless but to smile back. Those stupid dimples are going to be the death of him. 

“Thought maybe I’d done something to upset you,” Dan says.

“No. God, no.” Kyle runs a nervous hand through his hair. “I—I’m sorry.”

A little wrinkle appears between Dan’s eyebrows. “What for?”

“For making you feel bad. I was just being an idiot,” says Kyle. He points at his own chest. “Walking disaster, remember?”

Dan’s features soften, his lips curling into another tentative smile. “Right.”

“I just,” Kyle starts, and the word vomit tumbles out before he can stop it: “I saw you with your friend—your boyfriend?—the other day, and it really threw me because, well. You see, you’re usually the highlight of my day. No, not just usually. Every day. I like talking to you, and I like pouring you coffee, even though I think it’s absolutely mad you drink it without cream or sugar or anything. And this is probably super creepy, but I—I got jealous, alright, and that’s why I acted like a total prick. Which is so dumb and I’m really, really sorry.”

Behind him, something metal clatters against the counter. Charlie, no doubt, probably having a field day after that outburst. Kyle winces but doesn’t turn around, his eyes stuck on Dan’s face.

Dan, for his part, looks about as shocked as any sane person would after such a disastrous confession. His eyes are wide as saucers behind his glasses, and his mouth keeps twitching like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or frown. 

“I’m not dating Ralph,” he says.

Kyle feels a bit faint. “Okay.”

“I—I’m not dating anyone,” Dan clarifies.

“Okay,” Kyle says again. Then the words click. “ _Oh._ Okay.”

Dan looks down, eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks. When he meets Kyle’s gaze again a few seconds later, his face has a red tinge to it, as if he’s—nervous? Which is crazy, right? Not possible. Why would _Dan_ be nervous?

“What are you doing after your shift?” Dan asks.

Oh. That’s why.

Kissing you on the mouth, Kyle thinks hysterically. Aloud, he says, “um, nothing.”

“We could—grab lunch. If you want.”

“Yeah. Yes,” Kyle babbles. “That’d be cool.”

“Alright. Cool.” 

They stand there for a long moment, grinning at each other like complete idiots, until Kyle clears his throat.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

*

The end of Kyle’s shift can’t come fast enough. He spends the entire time stealing glances at Dan’s table, and Charlie ribs him endlessly for it (“that was honestly painful to watch,” “just make out already,” “Kyle, this is a place of _work,_ please take your moon eyes elsewhere”). 

He finally clocks out at two PM and nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to Dan, who’s waiting for him by the door.

“Ready to go?” Kyle asks him, only slightly breathless.

“Yeah,” Dan says with an amused little smile.

Together, they exit the shop. Kyle’s nerves have dialed up to a ten, and he shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking as he falls into step beside Dan.

“So,” he says, trying (and utterly failing) to sound casual. “Lunch. What do you fancy?”

“You,” says Dan.

They’ve barely made it ten steps away from the shop, but Kyle stops dead in his tracks. He turns to face Dan, who stops walking as well. Dan’s cheeks are bright red, but his gaze is unwavering as he looks up at Kyle.

“Just—wanted to make that clear, in case it wasn’t already,” Dan adds.

Kyle’s palms are sweating miserably, but fuck it. He grabs Dan’s hand and pulls him off to the side, out of the way of the people passing by on the sidewalk. They’re standing right in front of the windows of the shop _,_ and Kyle’s certain that Charlie is probably watching this unfold from his place behind the counter, but Dan’s skin is warm and calloused beneath his fingertips, so Kyle really, really can’t bring himself to care.

“You,” he says helplessly. “You can’t just—say things like that.”

Dan doesn’t pull his hand away. “Why not?”

Because Kyle’s pretty sure his heart is about to explode and leave nothing but a smoking crater where _Pot Meets Kettle_ currently resides. 

“Because—” he starts. “Oh, bugger.”

He exhales whatever fear still lingers inside of him with his next breath. Then, using the light grip he has on Dan’s wrist, Kyle reels him in, cups his other hand around Dan’s cheek, and kisses him.

It’s every dream Kyle’s had for the past few weeks come to life. Dan’s lips are soft, almost unbearably so, and he tastes bitter like the coffee he drinks every day. Kyle can’t get enough of it. Dan’s stupid, too-big glasses bump against his face, and it’s uncomfortable but also somehow perfect at the same time.

“That was—unexpected,” Dan says once they’ve separated.

Kyle feels like he’s drifting through the world in a daze. He blinks away the fog that is _Dan Dan Dan’s mouth Dan’s laugh Dan’s everything_ and says, “was it, though?”

Dan considers the question, his forehead pinching together in thought. Kyle wants to smooth out the wrinkles with his fingers—so he does. He presses his thumb to Dan’s skin, and the muscles instantly loosen, Dan’s mouth curving up into a faint smile.

“Well, maybe not. Charlie said some stuff—”

Now it’s Kyle’s turn to grimace. “He didn’t.”

“It’s not his fault you disappeared.”

“I was pining,” Kyle protests.

“I know,” Dan says, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr.](http://groundopenwide.tumblr.com)


End file.
